Trio of Two
by smartdumdum
Summary: Under PJO because if you like that, you may like this. What if not all of the Native Americans went to reservations? The few from each tribe that managed to escape all fled to the same place: the Blue Ridge Mountains in North Georgia. But some went missing on the journey. It's up to Joy, a city girl, and Rhea, the five greats granddaughter of Cynthia Ann Parker, to find them.
1. The Worlds Shortest Prologue

The Shortest Prologue Ever

I still couldn't get used to a deerskin sleeping roll. It was so much softer and more comfortable than cotton sheets. It was the first thing I felt this morning when I woke up, and I almost fainted, before my brain reminded me of the current events.

"What is breakfast?"

Walt's holler echoed throughout the valley we were camping in. Sometimes I wonder if that moron knows what sleeping in is.

"You if you don't shut up!" I called back merrily.

Walt and I have a love hate relationship. Most of the time it's the hate part, but occasionally, we actually get along. Emphasis on the word _occasionally_. Despite our _uncommonlove/commonhate_ relationship, we still manage not to throttle each other.

Usually.

Poor Rhea groggily got up to pick berries, and I tried to get back to sleep. My stomach began growling, and I realized that maybe Walt had a good reason for waking me up.


	2. Chapter 1: The Cabin

You know, I just realized that you know nothing about what I'm telling you, so I should probably begin at the beginning.

It was a bright, sunny day. This is important because of one thing: the "weather spirits" never make it a nice day unless I'm in a bad mood. And I was _seething._

You people don't actually know me yet, so you're probably wondering,"is this a normal thing?"

Well, to answer your nonexistent question, I shall introduce myself.

My name is Joy Olive Adams. I hail from Atlanta, Georgia. I pretty much always act cheerful and sarcastic. Kinda like in the Prologue. So, no, this is not a common thing. Now, back to the storyline, because my mind is starting to wander, and believe me, that is never a good thing.

My parents were driving me to a cabin. On a mountain. To live. In the middle of nowhere, with my seven year old brother.

See? I have a very good reason to be seething.

The sun shone merrily through the car window, as I attempted to muffle the sound of my brother screeching along to Justin Beiber and One Direction with my headphones. After about an hour of pure torture, my parents finally had mercy and turned it to P!nk. I removed my headphones and grinned smugly at Mike, who was silently pouting. I spent the rest of the car ride victory dancing in my seat while I began my journal entry. Coincidentally, that journal is the exact reason that you are reading this journal. Plus, when you're making history, you generally like to document it for future generations to admire you. You know, it just occurred to me that I should really stop dropping hints.

After awhile, we hit gravel road. There were rocks hitting pretty much everything, including my face, so we rolled up the windows. Eventually, we pulled up to a gravel driveway overgrown with weeds and thorny branches. I ran my hands through my short,choppy, white-blond hair, and stared out the window in disgust.

Once at "The Cabin"(Such an original name!), as my family had dubbed it, I began the scowl I had been practicing in the car. My mom tried to cheer me up.

"Joy, I know that you didn't want to make this move, but it'll be fun, I promise."

Being the delightful person I am, I gave her a sour look, and began to drag my boxes of journals and notebooks and pencils and pens and everything else into the house as slowly as I possibly could. Mike, on the other hand, was delighted.

"This is so cool! Mom, once we unpack, can I go explore? CanIcanIcanI _please?_"

"See honey? Your brother's excited."

"My _brother_ is from the planet _Moron_, therefore his opinion is deemed worthless by all humans." I replied crankily.

"Now, Joy, be nice. whether you like it or not, you are related to your brother, and someday, you'll wish you were nicer to him."

"Yeah, yeah, he loves me, and I should be nicer. Any new speeches about the importance of family? That ones gotten old."

After my scolding, I was ordered to continue my box carrying.

I rolled my eyes, and resumed my scowling and dragging.

Once I actually got my stuff into my new room, I began looking around. It was small, and fairly plain, and felt odd compared to my big, colorful room back in Atlanta, so I was relieved to spot my old rolltop desk in squeezed into a corner. I immediately rushed to it and sank into my swivel chair. Then, I remembered my old files. I keep old poems and stories that I wrote back when I was a little kid. Ah, the good old days when I had an imagination. I dug through some more boxes, ad found old baby photos. Then, a mirror. I stared closely at my eyes. People had always commented on them. Not my pale skin, not my messy hair, nobody cared about anything but my eyes. I could sort of see why. They were very light grey, with a blurred black ring around them, and almost seemed to be looking through your soul. They were kind of creepy. I sat there for about fifteen seconds, before I heard my mom yelling to come out and get some more boxes.

I groaned.

* * *

**If you are actually reading this after that horrifying prologue, I applaud you. By the way, check out GreekGirl00000! Also, I have a poll up, so if you could just go and vote, I would be your servant for life! But if you don't, I've been researching Native American curses. No pressure!**


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